by Eileen Glass
She always does that, with a stern frown regarding him. She has a rather big pointed nose, his mother. But he can’t remember her actual face. She’s like a blur with hair and wrists.
He wants to ask about her. But she does not seem friendly.
There are sometimes when he imagines her that she’s enormous, her hands twice the size of his head.
Children do not pick their own names!
You are my son and I will call you whatever I want, Per-sephone!
There is… something there. Some connection. But it’s so wrapped up and muddled. He thinks that perhaps he’d rather be with Hades.
“Am I, like, permanently damaged? Will I always feel like I don’t know who I am?”
“No, a lot of it will come back.” Hades leans on him then, rubbing his back, bumping his chin into Seph first, and then kissing his head. His movements have more blundering to them, and his cheeks are rosy as he rests against Seph’s shoulder.
“A lot of it will feel distant though. Once you’ve had enough of the essence Styx is bleeding from her old beasts, you will feel like you’ve discovered the world brand new. Like waking up from a very long nap and the time of day has changed. And you can’t quite remember how you fell asleep or how you got there. But you will always be Seph. Only little things will change.”
“Do you think I’ll still love you?”
Hades was going to take a new drink, and now he stops. He lets the pitcher rest on the bed, and he lets a thumb trail up the long, looped handle.
“That is your choice.”
He is quiet, looking fallen, and that answers a question for Seph. He wondered how loyal this marriage really is.
To make up for the hurt he may have caused by his curious query, Seph tries something he’s never done before (but something he remembers doing). An action that may decide whether he is Seph who he remembers or not. And also, he wants to recover more memories like these. They are fragmented and incomplete.
He keeps the goblet standing up on the soft bed with a little help from his foot, as he takes Hades’s face in his hands, kissing him.
This is weird. This is not a very good.
Those were the old thoughts he had very long ago, recovered now.
I am finding pieces of myself in him. But only when he’s around, like that woman said.
He breaks away.
“I want to do more with you. Is it okay if I do more?”
I want to remember more of that night after the feast.
Hades leans away. “Seph, you probably can’t even walk right now.”
Seph tries a smile, to show he’s okay. Though, Hades is very right. His entire body feels achy and weak. With gusto he says, “Well, I’m not trying to walk.”
Did you just—smack my ass?
His grin falters, then increases. He loves this new memory he found.
“Can I just… have your body please? Maybe to do more of this, maybe just to explore… I don’t know.” He touches Hades’s arm. There is another old whispering thought here, as his hand follows up to his shoulder.
Where did those scars come from?
In the present, he wonders, What did he say when I asked?
But no answer returns.
“I feel like I stored myself in here.” He loosens Hades’s shirt ties around his collar and slips his hand inside, over his heart. “I feel like if we are kissing and touching, I might find this Seph person again. And I might find out that he’s me.”
Hades says nothing at first. And then their lips touch.
“Please,” Seph says when he can.
“You already have permission, my king.”
And then the parts that he discovers are not words, but emotion. Desire, want. But more importantly—the part that feels like him and not just a physical reaction to the beautiful body under his hands—he feels entitled. Hades’s words are not just playful endearment. Seph feels like a king with a subject, a claim.
And he loves it.
He kisses the dark god’s neck. He feels the wine goblet topple over his foot since he forgot about it, but when he lifts his head to assess the damage, the cup is floating in midair, unspilled, and Hades has a hand raised toward it. It floats to the table by the bed, and Seph appreciates that he doesn’t have to fuss with such a menial thing.
He can focus on kissing the god instead. Hades threads their fingers together and squeezes his palm. The very magic that lifted the wine glass is Seph’s to touch. He kisses the taste of wine off the god’s lips. And more importantly, he smells the god’s hair and runs his nose over his neck. He loves that icy, sweet, scent. Minthe.
“What happened to the boy we were with? The one you were torturing.”
“You don't remember? I sent him to the upperworld until the end of his days. I banished him.”
“Hmm.” Seph grabs Hades’s head to tilt him aside, finding the area behind his ear. The king squirms.
“You told me to,” Hades says. He shirks and shivers. “I made a promise. Remember?”
It is not important.
But Seph doesn't say so. He remembers the pretty-faced thing beaten and dying. He vaguely remembers that Minthe was responsible for his near death, but the details of it all evade him. Why was he out there?
It doesn't feel important anymore. That was all old Seph. The newest Seph is here with a husband who honors promises and smells amazing.
Oh.
There is one good skill he remembers. Barely. Looking down at his groin, wondering if he should do something or nothing, Seph unlocks a little bit of knowledge. A connection. Something old Seph knew that new Seph would like to experience also.
“I want us to touch. Like this.”
He takes himself in hand, but he can't get close enough to Hades. He stretches out his legs instead and brings Hades on top of him. His husband goes along with it, looking a little perplexed. He lets the pitcher float off the bed and land perfectly on the table without a wobble. And Seph, holding Hades’s hips, has him perch on his thighs, the accessibility perfect.
Hades is confused at first. But not for long. With A little guidance from Seph, taking those pale wrists, molding Hades’s hands onto his stiff cock, Hades soon kneads and wraps and fondles, making Seph raise his hips a little. He can't afford much more movement than that.
Then he says, “I want to feel you with me.”
He reaches far down and takes Hades in hand, his trousers already opened, perhaps with magic.
This doesn't feel familiar, though he knows the technique. This is all him—the real Seph. Not a memory of someone.
What he says is an echo though.
“I want you to cum for me, baby.”
Hades’s lips were parted and his eyes lidded in pleasure. Now his brows make a cute crease in the middle.
“Baby?”
“Mmm. Love doll. Plump cheeks. Squishy butt. What do I usually call you?”
His nicknames are terrible and without class. He knows this. But he also can't access anything. It's all new.
It's like I have to build myself all over again.
“I don't…” Hades rolls his lips together quickly, his eyes closing. He moves back and forth across Seph’s broad cock. “We never really got that far. Just my king, I think, is something we call each other. And sometimes husband or mate.”
“Hm. That doesn’t seem right. Are you sure I didn’t call you beautiful? I seem to remember…”
He stops speaking. Hades doesn’t look displeased, his expression impartial, but he doesn’t pipe up in accordance either. Seph is remembering someone or something else. Or maybe he just really wants to give Hades a nickname. It seems so natural a desire that he doesn’t know why it wouldn’t have happened already.
“I want to see you cum on my cock, beautiful.”
Hades has no reaction. If anything, His features smooth themselves out.
That's okay. I'll dig.
“On second thought, I think I'll call you flower. What do you think?”
Perhaps that was too playful. The dark god’s eyes snap open, sharp and annoyed. Seph’s hands stop on their own.
“You will not.”
Seph makes himself chuckle. Though his body would rather not move at all, he forces his arms to use enough strength to lift himself up, and he kisses his husband, who moans and squeezes his hands around them both.
“I wish I could have you. Fully,” Seph says, looking into his eyes. Then he shrugs. “But this is fun too. I want to see your face when you cum.”
His hands help, taking over. Up and down, over and around their slick heads. He watches the pleasure spike and climb in his lover. Hades shuts his eyes tighter as he's feeling it, lost in his own thought space. Maybe seeking out privacy, feeling self-conscious. But he's actually more exposed than ever, each moment causing a new frown, an inhale, or a small moan.
Seph sees the end coming when Hades curls his hands atop his knees. Seph leans forward again to lick over his ear and nuzzle through his hair.
“Cum for me, beautiful. And I'll be good for you.”
What that means exactly, he can't say. But he knows what he wants, and he reaches around to feel Hades’s backside. He slips low and pushes a finger into his ass.
His husband squeaks, quick like a mouse, his eyes flying open in surprise. And Seph pushes in hard and deep, because he knows Hades will lose control. He knows he has him. He moves his finger fast, the place tight but pliable, and all too soon it closes up on him.
Hades takes them in hand again, stroking their cocks and moving his hips into it, up and down on Seph’s thighs. Through his cock, Seph feels his husband pulse and twitch. Hades’s slick palm holds them tight against each other. His husband cums over them both, shooting up and spilling all over Seph’s cock and stomach. Hades’s own hands are coated and messy with himself.
Seph grins.
He isn't bad. He's just… the king of this place is all. The underworld is morbid. There's too much grief. Here, existence pays it's cost. And my husband—my king, my beautiful—runs all of it.
But not alone.
Not anymore.
That's something he remembers from old Seph’s life… nothing much. No responsibility, no chores, no work. Lounging and laughing, rich clothes and fancy couches.
I want to help.
And I want to be partners with him.
“Have you ever taken a man into your mouth?”
Hades looks offended. “Please, only a million times.”
He scoots back and lowers himself, opening over Seph’s cock. Despite his wandering thoughts, Seph discovers he's more connected physically to his body than he realized. His head goes back. He drops against the headboard. And one of his legs bends, spreading himself wide.
There is no hesitation or lack of skill as the god’s platinum head bobs over him, sucking hotly. And when Hades glances up at him, the look is sly and satisfied.
I'll get him.
He's not getting away with this.
“I know what I used to call you,” Seph says, squirming because he's very close. Did the old him ever feel like this?
He needs more of Hades’s mouth slurping and sucking, hollowing his cheeks and looking up at him deliciously—or he's going to die.
So he bites his tongue. Until at last the dark god is drinking him, directly, as Seph finishes in his tight throat. He swallows it all.
So greedy.
“Bunny,” he says with a satisfied sigh.
The god’s head lifts with a popping wet noise, saliva dripping from his tongue.
“Don't you dare. That's a misappropriated memory anyway, my stallion.”
Ah. Stallion. That's what it was. Seph had the memory all mixed up.
“You must have a cute nickname you're not telling me.”
“Husband and my king are suitable nicknames.”
“I kind of like bunny.”
Hades settles in beside him, pulling Seph close. Though their words have been playful, he can tell there is worry going on behind his eyes.
“Am I too different?” There is always the possibility that Seph doesn't make a home here and returns to the mother he barely remembers.
“No. You're just the same. I promise. I think I should have done better. A better king would never have faced this situation. It would have been prevented.”
Seph scoots down and rests his head on the same pillow as Hades. He's falling asleep fast, and his eyes are closing as he says, “Maybe you shouldn't have to do everything alone.”
Forty-Two
For two days Seph spends his time entirely in bed, sometimes talking to Hades with a tired smile and sometimes just resting in silence with his eyes half-closed, replaying fragmented bits of memory in his mind, but he doesn’t like to do this. When he hears the whispers and imagines vague images and sensations, he always has a deep feeling that something is wrong. Something is missing. Something is wrong with him.
And there’s always the feeling that he’s not quite as he should be.
But he discovers with Hades that just talking to him can fix this unease. For instance, he learns that Hades was in a great war, the scar on his shoulder came from a Titan (a very old god), and Hades describes the battle to him, miming small actions with his fists stacked atop each other like he’s holding a sword.
This feels new. There is no ghost associated with his story. And the more new, unechoed memories he creates, the more comfortable he becomes.
And as he learns about Hades, his husband who he finds out he never knew very well due to their nonexistent courtship and young marriage, he admires the mantle Hades takes upon himself as the dark king. He is the ruler of all that will ever be in the end, a time very far away.
Seph wasn’t entirely sure what his old self was up to. According to Verah, he spent a lot of time just wandering around the palace or asking questions about things. When he asks Hades about himself, he mostly gets flattering descriptions of his body or personality.
Seph can’t remember him. Who he was. Who he wanted to be.
But he remembers the last thought he had on the day when he woke up broken like this, and he decides that he wants to be Hades’s husband. Not just his consort and companion, but also a king. He wants to have the burden that Hades has taken upon himself, and once this is decided, on the fifth day, the sixth and seventh days are not so sleepy, aching, and listless.
Seph wakes up on the eighth day alone, which is not the usual circumstance. If Hades leaves, he is always within shouting distance, and today he has a metallic taste on his tongue, like a coin. It is the listening spell he has placed on Seph once before.
“I am awake but not needing anything at this particular moment,” he says aloud to an empty room. And then the taste fades. Hades is not all-powerful, nor omniscient, and the complicated spell only lasts for one phrase.
Then he flips the blankets off of him, revealing legs that have felt bony and weak the last several days. But Seph remembers them being strong, and he has suspected, though Hades insists on taking his arm and even levitating him a little bit for every trip to the latrine, that he is strong enough to start looking after himself for the most basic things.
Being a king is exciting! And the first thing he has to do is start learning about his subjects and exploring the palace.
Maybe that is why I was asking so many questions. Maybe this is who I have been all along, and I’m no different now, even though my mind feels split apart.
Styx said I would find myself again.
“Oof.” His first attempt to leave the bed has him technically standing for a few moments, and then he collapses onto the end table, clutching dearly for support, and then wobbling for balance only to fall onto the bed.
It is not the great independent step he was hoping for.
Then he hears a scratch on the door and a whine behind it.
Usually the door is open and the chained dog is allowed to peer in. Hades shut it when he left, and he has warned Seph that Cerberus is not initia
lly friendly dog. He explained that Cerberus was there to guard the door only, and that an introduction might come later.
Well, that introduction never happened to the old Seph. Cerberus is new. The old Seph never even saw him face-to-face according to Hades. And as a measure of his own healing and achieving mobility, Seph decides to open the door. A dog on a short chain is easy to run from if necessary.
He winces as he gets his feet under him again. Now he moves like a toddler just learning to walk, clinging to the bed all the way around, grabbing the bedposts with both hands and then reaching far across the room for the door.
The extra steps required to reach his goal are a painful obstacle, but Seph gets a floaty feeling in his limbs, almost like Hades is levitating him again.
Hades explained that there’s nothing wrong with Seph’s magic. He isn’t technically a weak god. There is merely something switched off inside, a connection that lets him control what he does, so that usually his magic is just sitting there doing nothing. Only sometimes, in a way that is unfelt, will Seph be able to do anything godlike. Hades explained it as being deaf for a human but sometimes able to hear a faint melody.
With his arms wide in case the melody stops playing, Seph toddles to the door and falls against it, catching himself with his hands.
“Whew.”
It must be stupid to take pride in such a meager little effort, but Seph can’t actually remember walking, which is a weird concept to him. Oh, he has a lot of memories about standing places, or moving around, or talking to people. But he doesn’t actually remember the physical act of walking—of picking each foot up and placing it one step at a time.
He also can’t remember, specifically, opening any doors. So this feels new to him. He takes the handle and pulls.
Sudden, furious barking has him slam the door shut, rethinking the logic of this endeavor, and he waits to hear the sliding claws of an angry beast on the other side. There’s the metallic slide and clink of a chain on the floor, trailing then snapping tight. And then the growl of the dog itself, which rumbles lowly and then shouts some horrible, ego stripping insults in dog language (probably).